The Rattled Bones(53)

Sam’s “after everything.”

He turns to me, smiles when he tells me how his adoption freed him, how he wasn’t afraid of losing his mom and dad after that day in court. The day he got a forever last name and a forever family. He knew then he’d forever have a place to call home. How in an instant the world became so much bigger for him and he wanted to see it all.

We sit in the connectedness of our stories, our pasts that make today possible, the sea around us.

He picks up an oyster shell, thumbs the iridescent pink interior. “I think that’s why I feel so drawn to what happened on Malaga, how the islanders were taken from the only home they’d ever known all because the government got in the way of people being a family. There’s a painful sort of symmetry to our stories.” He turns the shell over, rubs at the rough outer surface. “I just wish the people were still here, you know? So I wouldn’t have to be.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Sam looks at me, a smile in his eyes. “Yeah?”

“I wish it were under different circumstances, but yeah.”

“Huh.” Sam drops the shell, returns it to the beach. “I like being here because this place holds no memories. The sea is like nothing I’ve ever known. It’s a fresh start. After everything, you know?”

I really can’t imagine; the sea has always been my everything. “Is your story the one you told me last night?”

He smiles. “No. That one was about this island. About a grandfather, a—”

“Father.”

His face lights. “Ah! You were listening.”

I squint to meet his eyes. “Only that part. Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” He comes to my side, shares the rock seat. “I was telling you about the king of Malaga—”

“Wait. A king? Or a king in the way common to Maine islands?”

He looks surprised. “You tell me.”

“It’s pretty traditional for Maine islands to have a king. He’s more like a person who settles disputes, less like a crown-wielding monarch.”

“You’re saying this happens still?”

I nod. “Sure. Head out to Monhegan. Local rule is pretty important when you live year-round with less than a hundred people and you’re so remote. I imagine Malaga would have been the same.”

Sam waves his hand as a prompt for more.

“It’s nothing really,” I tell him.

“Something is never nothing.”

Small crabs skitter at the waterline, feeding in the space between earth and sea. “It’s just custom, part of the island way of life along this coast. It makes total sense if you think about it. Island families depend on one another for enforcing the law, educating children, mediating disputes. But mostly, for survival. Island life out here is hard and cut off from the mainland, even now. The communities are insular, protective.”

His eyes squint against the glare of the sun. “So they need a king.”

“Well, a ruler, yeah.” Doesn’t have to be a king, but the idea of a queen is a different conversation. “Usually a man with the deepest island roots serves as the king. But more often, he’s the best fisherman, since good fishing is the difference between life and death for islanders, especially during the winter months.”

“We know the king of Malaga met with the governor when his party came to the island. He was the voice his community,” Sam says.

“Sounds about right.” Even though Malaga’s particular history is still new to me, the culture of sea life is familiar. Malaga’s people were my people. Quiet. Hardworking. Unassuming.

I stare out at the ocean, the way it rushes forth with its determined blue before retreating in a froth of white. Malaga sits on the edge of the world. No wonder its founder chose it for his home.

“James McKenney moved to Malaga around 1870. He was the best fisherman, like you’re saying. Had the largest home, with two rooms.”

McKenney. Another last name I recognize from this area. Sam’s notes told of how some Malaga residents changed the spelling of their names after the eviction, when they attempted to disappear into the mainland population, and how Malaga Island descendants are still here, still fishing the coast. I’ve gone to school with them, worked the water with them, but no one talks about the island. It’s taken a person from away to show me what’s been here all along.

“A dig has already happened at McKenney’s home site. A few years ago. The university found bones from fish, birds, and pig—and some fishhooks and ceramics. That site in particular was key to determining how islanders kept livestock out here.”

“And he was the king?”

Sam nods. “Yep. He organized the island economy and was fully literate. By all accounts he was an articulate man.”

“Where was his home?”

“There.” Sam points to a raised ridge near the top of the island. “I’ve always wondered how much he knew about what was really going on. Like, did he know what the eviction notice really meant for his people?”

“I don’t think anyone could’ve imagined that the residents would be kidnapped and committed to an institution. It’s hard to believe even now.” I tuck my chin against my gathered knees, the skin there hot, holding the noon sun. “Sam?” I draw up a question from my very own deep. “Was there a girl on the island? Someone around our age? She may have had an infant.”